


Somebody Else

by Idreamofhazel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-breakup, bad breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8118541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idreamofhazel/pseuds/Idreamofhazel
Summary: Dean sees you at the bar some time after your breakup. He reminisces while he deals with seeing you out with somebody else.
>Somebody Else by The 1975





	

He wasn’t surprised when he saw you standing at the bar, batting your long eyelashes at the handsome guy who bought you a drink. He didn’t know why he had come to this bar, though. That was a surprise. Of course you’d be here. He should’ve known. You always said you’d go back to your hometown if you ever decided to settle down. And of course Dean agreed to take on a case here. And of course he decided to come to this exact bar. Of course fate would have it that way. 

He sat at a table across the bar, dangling a glass of whiskey in his fingertips, drops of condensation dripping onto the worn wood, swirling the drink while you twirled your hair around your finger, nails painted red. It was a nervous habit of yours. You always did that when you were flirting. Dean had always teased you about it, too, because he thought it was cute. Your favorite color was still red, or so it seemed. It had become his favorite as soon as you had put on that dress for your first date. 

Dean took a sip of the whiskey when you touched the man’s arm. He sat it on the table when your date pulled you a little closer by your waist. So you were with somebody else now. Dean could tell. You wouldn’t dare let a man touch you that way unless you were. Dean took another sip. 

* * *

_“God, Dean what is your problem? Do you not realize how stupid this is?” You yelled at him, hoping to convince him of your point, but mostly you were just fed up and angry. Angry that Dean wouldn’t listen. He never listened._

_He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He was always so good at arguing with you. The two of you always resolved the arguments, one way or another. But lately, some unknown agitation had been chipping away at that skill of yours. It made your arguments more like battles than problem solving._

_“Stupid? You think this is stupid? I’m trying to do the right thing here.” Dean had stepped closer to her, jabbing his index finger towards the dingy motel carpet, hoping it would somehow make his point better. It didn’t._

_You scoffed and crossed your arms, closing yourself off. “Yeah ok. The ‘right’ thing. I guess that’s not me anymore?” You paused and waited for a response, but only saw Dean with his jaw clenched, his eyes flaring up in disbelief. He had nothing to say. “Fine Dean. I get it. Go. Leave. Do your suicide mission. Maybe you’ll come back, maybe you won’t. I won’t be sticking around to see that, though. Not this time.”_

_Dean expected a million angry things to come out of your mouth just then, but nothing could prepare him for those words. He let down his guard just a little, trying to relax so he could remedy the situation._

_“Come on. You don’t mean that."_

_You kept your arms crossed. "I guess we’ll see."_

_Dean waited and you just stood there. God, you just stood there. You wouldn’t move. Your arms never uncrossed. Your cold expression didn’t change. You weren’t crying, weren’t pleading. You didn’t tap your fingers on your arms like you always did when you were mad. You just stood there._

* * *

Dean remembered that final conversation with you while you laughed and chatted with the man at the bar. 

Both of you had always known death was a possibility in your line of work. You had played it off lightly to make it easier to deal with. Dean would ask you what you’d do if he died. You’d say you’d find someone else to take his place, but you’d say it with a wink or a glance out of the corner of your eye and a smirk on your face. It was funny then. Real funny. But now you had gone and done just that. Replaced him. And he wasn’t even dead.  


Dean looked at the missed call from Sam as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and showed something to the other man, both of you leaning over the bar, shoulders brushing up against each other. Dean took another sip of whiskey. 

He thought for sure that night was the last time he’d see your face, your freckles sprinkled across your nose and your full lips that made the perfect smile. That same smile that made him weak at the knees, even now. He didn’t think that when he left, though. He hadn’t realized it until he returned from the job. He had just grabbed his bag and walked out the door without a word. And you were right. It was stupid. Really stupid. 

He came back the next day to an empty room. At first he thought it was a joke. He called you, leaving desperate messages. None of them were returned. He didn’t leave that motel for a week in case you came back. He wanted you to be able to find him, but you didn’t want to find him again. After a week he gave up. He took all of his things, his clothes, some that you had worn, and all his hunting tools, some that you had used, and he packed them up and drove away. It took him four hours of driving in no particular direction to finally call Sam and ask him where he was at. 

And now he was seeing your face again, at least the side of it. And he was seeing the soft hair he used to run his fingers through. And the beautiful skin his fingers used to dance across. The man leaned in and whispered something in your ear and you smiled, running a hand down his arm. You turned towards the door, the man right behind you looking at you with desire, and Dean saw your whole face. For just a second. 

His heart jumped and his breath hitched, just like it did when he used to kiss you or when he woke up to see your frame lying next to his. It was only a split second of your face, but that’s all it took. That’s all it ever took. Except for the last time he was ever with you. Now you were with somebody else and he had to be ok with that. He had to think about it and watch you walk out of the bar with another man’s love and desire trailing you. He had to think about you being with him in every imaginable way, completely and fully, and he had to be ok with it. 

Dean looked down at the cracks in the table and the chip on the edge of his glass. He looked at the damp, wrinkled napkin his glass sat on and he looked at his whiskey, one more drink left in the bottom of the glass. He got up and dropped a couple ones on the table. Usually he would finish his drink and stay for another, but not tonight. Just like the last night he ever had with you, he was leaving too early with things unfinished, things that would never be finished. And he had to be ok with that.


End file.
